


Mac and Dennis: Co-Parents

by glundergun (cleardishwashers)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Gang Behavior, Children, Dad Dennis Reynolds, Dennis Reynolds is a Bastard Man, F/F, Gen, M/M, Medication, Multi, POV Alternating, the funny bad men are idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23054437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleardishwashers/pseuds/glundergun
Summary: When Mandy and Brian Jr. move into Mac and Dennis's apartment, everything is shaping up to be terrible. It's cramped, there's no privacy, and everyone is treating Dennis like he's some sort of pariah. But it's better than the shitty state of North Dakota, and he has his son, so eventually, things are bound to fall into place. Right?
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 52
Kudos: 90





	1. The Prodigal Son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlassesBlu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesBlu/gifts), [OystersAintForMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OystersAintForMe/gifts), [skiesbelow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiesbelow/gifts).



> thanks to my AMAZING beta, oystersaintforme on ao3 and oysters-aint-for-me on tumblr, and my equally as amazing artist, glassesblu on ao3 and tumblr!! in addition, thanks to iia (skiesbelow on ao3 and asofttomorrow on tumblr) for screaming with me about these morons ur the best and ily.  
> there is some heavy stuff in some of the chapters, and i'll put a warning in the notes.  
> hope you enjoy!

When Dennis comes back from the shithole that is North Dakota, he’s torn.

On the one hand, he really does want to be there for his son. His golden-curled, chubby-cheeked son, who smiles like an angel, even though Dennis doesn’t believe in them. Dennis never thought he could unconditionally love someone so  _ easily _ before he met Brian Jr.

On the other hand, there’s the fact that North Dakota really was a shithole, and he was going stir crazy, and he missed the gang. Missed Mac, in a way that ran differently than missing the rest, a way that he doesn’t want to look at too closely.

“Why the hell are you eating my carrots?” Dennis snaps, leaning back against the kitchen counter (it’s a feeling both foreign and oh-so-familiar, because eighteen months away doesn’t erase twenty years but it sure as hell leaves a dent).

“Sorry, Dennis,” Mac says, and stuffs them back into the fridge. They’re not even Dennis’s carrots, but he was the only one who ate them, before— well, just  _ before. _

“Don’t— goddamnit, Mac.” If he was back in North Dakota, he wouldn’t have to deal with Mac’s stupidly earnest attempts to please, but he’s back now. “I gotta tell you something.”

“Yeah, anything,” Mac says. He’s like a goddamn puppy.

“Mandy’s moving to Philly.”

He knows Mac better than anyone, and it’s easy to see the rusty gears in his brain start to click. “Like… with the kid?”

“Yes, of  _ course _ with the kid! What the hell did you think she would do, just dump him in the snow?”

“I dunno, man, sorry. Are you two gonna, like—” he mashes his hands together in a crude imitation of what should be sex— “together?”

“No!” Dennis exclaims.

“Oh. Sorry for asking,” Mac says.

“Goddamnit, stop saying sorry!”

“So— apologies.”

“That’s not any better.”

“Sorry.”

Goddamnit. His skin is crawling, hatred (self-directed and otherwise) singing through his veins. “Mandy’s gonna move here, and she’s gonna stay with us for a little while so you’ll have to stay in my room and they’ll take your room, and I’m gonna go for a drive.”

“What does that have to do with… oh. Okay,” Mac says, twisting his hands around each other in a way that screams  _ gay _ out to anybody on the goddamn street. “Do you want me to come, or…”

_ “No,” _ Dennis says, and he storms out.

He only realizes that he forgot his keys once he’s already downstairs, and there’s no way in hell he’s gonna go back up, so he pulls his cardigan tighter around him and makes his way down the street. He’s fully intending to hit the Wawa for a bottle of something alcoholic, but he ends up in one of those extraordinarily hipster coffee bars that seem to be spreading through Philly like a disease, with his phone out and his fingers already dialling Mandy’s number. She picks up on the third ring, and before she can get a word out, he says, “I told him.”

“How’d he take it?” Mandy asks in that peculiar accent of hers, and he wonders why in the hell he agreed to this in the first place. It might’ve been his idea, even. He can’t remember. He suddenly wishes he’d taken the little orange pill bottle to North Dakota with him. Maybe then he’d be able to look back on his time there as more than just a gray blur.

“He’s Mac,” Dennis says.  _ He’s Mac. He buys the groceries, he takes the car in for its oil check, he fills my meds— oh. He doesn’t. _ “How the hell do you think he took it?”

“Oookay,” Mandy says, with that tone she uses when she’s too tired to push any further. “Well, I’ve got the job all lined up, so… all that we need to do is pick a date.”

“I don’t give a shit, Mandy,” Dennis says. “Come tonight, for all I care.”

For a moment, the only sound on the other end is static, and then “We’ll be there in a week.” She hangs up on him, and the hipster fuckwads around him continue to blather, and he starts to wonder how far he’d have to take it with one of them in order to get kicked out. His knuckles itch, like the only way to get it to stop would be to split them open.

His phone rings again. He accepts the call without bothering to check who it is, and he’s only a little surprised to hear Mac on the other end. “Dennis, you left your car keys—”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, so… do you want me to pick you up?”

“How the hell do you know I’m not still in the building?”

“Well, I figured…”

Dennis can hear Mac-from-eighteen-months-ago in his head, saying  _ “because I know you,” _ and his stomach rolls. “I’m at that stupid hipster coffee bar thing.” He slams the phone down on the counter and lets out a shuddering breath. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop Mac from knowing him, from lo— from being by his side. Mac’s fingerprints are all over Dennis, marking his skin in arches and whorls and loops, and Dennis wishes he could scrub himself raw and start all over again.


	2. Lady and the Tramp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac goes to two (2) bars and picks a fight with a bird.  
> (canon-typical alcohol use in this one lads)

Mac sets the last of Mandy’s shit down in the living room, hoping that nobody notices the dent in the box in the middle of the tower. “Done,” Mac says.

“Took you long enough,” Dennis grumbles, like Mac knew he would. He ignores it.

“Okiedokes, I’m gonna take a shower,” Mandy says. “Bri’s toys are in that suitcase over there, but he’s pretty pooped right now.”

She hands off the toddler to Dennis, whose eyes soften just the tiniest bit as he looks at his son, and heads into Dennis’s room. “You’re not gonna… like, join her?” Mac asks, shifting from one foot to another as if he can dislodge the awkwardness that’s settled over him.

Dennis looks distracted. “What? No— dude, we didn’t, like— y’know—”

_ Screw each other. _ “Like… the whole time you were there?”

“Why the hell are you so interested, anyway?”

Mac’s cheeks flush. “I’m not.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Perv.”

“Dennis, I just—”

“Okay, well, we didn’t.”

Mac stares at him for a second. He looks tired, his shoulders sagging as he cradles Brian Jr. to his chest. His skin is paler, too, and the usual flush to his cheeks is nonexistent.

Mac wonders if he should refill Dennis’s meds. The prescription is probably out of date, but maybe it would help.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna put the kid down for bed.” Dennis shifts Brian Jr. onto his other hip and carries the sleepy toddler into Mac’s room, disappearing behind the door.

Mac feels himself relaxing a little, and then he hates himself for it. Dennis is his best friend. Dennis knows him better than he knows himself. Dennis isn’t a person who he should be tensing up around.

Dennis isn’t a person who should leave for eighteen months, but it is what it is.

Mac’s fingers suddenly itch for a drink. He calls out, “I’m going to the bar,” and snags Dennis’s keys off the counter. He doesn’t get a response.

He meant to drive to Paddy’s, but he finds himself parked in front of the Rainbow. He’s been doing that a lot lately, enough that the bartenders usually know him well enough to settle into that well-worn, almost-flirting-but-not-quite groove. “I’ll get three shots of whiskey,” he says.

“Anyone to share it with?” the bartender— Nick, if Mac remembers correctly— asks, pouring the amber liquid out into a set of shot glasses.

“Depends on you, buddy,” Mac says. He grabs the first one and throws it back, his throat burning. “You wanna split one?”

“Somebody’s stingy,” Nick laughs. “You thinking Duchess and O’Malley style?”

“If you want,” Mac replies, even though taking a shot is kinda hard to do Duchess and O’Malley style. The grin stays on his face easier now, and he’s sure the whiskey has something to do with it.

Nick smiles ruefully. “Sorry, man. My shift ends at four.”

Mac frowns. “Maybe next time.”

“Try your luck on the dance floor.”

Mac nods and throws back the other two shots. The floor is packed, and he’s somehow managed to get stuck in the section full of very horny couples, all moaning and making out and grinding on each other. Mac’s no stranger to it, but this is just excessive, really. He makes his way off the floor and back to the bar, and Nick offers him three shots of whiskey without asking. “Here ya go, Tramp.”

Mac toasts him with the shot glass before downing the three drinks in quick succession, one after the other after the other, like a stack of dominos.

He drives home drunk and almost crashes into a mailbox. Nobody stops him, nobody asks him what the hell he’s doing, nobody insists on listening to their Bryan Adams mix for the fifth time that day. Mac parks the car in front of their building, and then he thinks of Dennis and Mandy and Brian Jr, the picture of domesticity, and the whiskey starts to crawl back up into his throat, so he pulls out of the spot and drives to the bar for real.

“What the shit are you doing here?” Dee asks, taking a pull off a tequila bottle as she wipes down the bartop. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping shithead’s girlfriend move in?”

“They’re not— ugh. Never mind, bird. Gimme a drink.”

“Get your own goddamn drink!”

“You’re already behind the fucking bar!”

“I don’t give a shit!”

“God, you’re such a whore.”

“And you’re a pathetic old man who only just now had the balls to come out of the closet.”

Mac glares at her and yanks the tequila from her grip, ignoring her squawking. “Shut the fuck up, Dee. What the fuck do you know about coming out?”

“I don’t  _ need _ to come out, seeing as I didn’t spend forty years in gay repression hell.”

“Shut the fuck up, bird.”

“Yeah, see, you’ve already used that one.” Dee smirks, pulling another bottle out from under the counter. “Hundreds of times.”

“Yeah, well, it still works. ‘Cause you’re a bird.” Mac takes a swig from his own bottle, ignoring the fact that he’s gonna have a headache the size of Kansas tomorrow morning. Getting old doesn’t scare him as much as it scares Dennis, but he still isn’t a fan of needing Advil after he takes more than seven shots. “And I’m surprised that there’s anyone in this city who you haven’t banged.”

“For your information, I don’t slut around  _ that _ much. You, on the other hand…” She gestures at Mac’s tank top and bared arms, which are streaked with glitter. “I see you like this, like, three times a week. At the  _ least.” _

“Yeah, well, that’s the mark of a successful man, Dee,” Mac says, even though he hasn’t actually fucked someone since his ten-day bender after Dennis left, when it had finally sunk in that he wasn’t coming back. “Whereas for women—”

“That’s such a disgusting double standard!” Dee exclaims, slamming the bottle down on the counter. “How come— okay, you know what? Say whatever the fuck you want, but I bet I’m getting more orgasms—”

“Dee, shut  _ up!” _ Mac yells, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t wanna hear about your goddamn—  _ orgasms!” _

“Well, don’t be gross then!”

“How the shit am  _ I _ the one being gross?!”

“You literally—”

“Okay, y’know what? Where the hell is Charlie? I cannot deal with you right now!”

“Charlie went home, bitch. Why the hell are  _ you _ here?”

“None of your goddamn business,” Mac snaps.

“Okay, well, if you’re avoiding Dennis and his baby mama—”

“Dee, do you have any knowledge of shutting the fuck up?”

“Do you have any knowledge of waiting for me to finish my goddamn sentences before you jump down my fucking throat?”

“Holy Christ—”

“What I was  _ gonna _ say is that if you’re avoiding them and sleeping here, we bought new blankets, and they’re in the cabinet in the back office. And booth three has a spring loose, so you might want to pick a different one. You goddamn asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, Dee, why the shit are you trying to mother me? Are you baby-crazy or something?”

_“One,_ how the shit is telling you we have new blankets _mothering,_ _two,_ how the shit would _you_ know what having a mother is like—”

“Don’t talk shit about my—”

_ “Three, _ I’m not the one who’s  _ living with an actual goddamn baby!” _

“He’s a fucking toddler, idiot!”

Dee stares at him for a moment. “Jesus Christ, Mac. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Mac sleeps in booth three anyways, just to spite her.


	3. Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A twink and a lesbian walk into a bar. Except the twink was already there. And then they bond.  
> (cw: more alcohol yall)

When Dee walks into the bar, the first thing she sees is Mac, crammed into booth three. “Jesus Christ, Mac,” she mutters.

She walks over and kicks him in the shin. “Wh— huh? What?” Mac says, jerking his head up. His eyes focus on her, and then he launches into his tirade. “What the  _ fuck, _ Dee? Why the fuck do you have to be such an—”

“Shut  _ up,” _ Dee snaps. “Jesus Christ. If you’re sleeping in the bar, then you can help me clean out the basement.”

“What the fuck makes you think that I’d do that?  _ Ever?” _

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll call Dennis and tell him that you’re a pathetic loser who—”

“Fine!” Mac yells. “Jesus Christ, fine!”

Dee grins at him. “Okay then.”

“Goddamn bitch.”

Dee ignores him, choosing to grab gloves, trash bags, and a bottle of Everclear from under the counter. “The booze is all for me, by the way.”

“Fuck  _ off, _ Dee.”

They only manage to clear two things out— a pile of shattered bottles and a broken chair— before the Everclear starts hitting them. Mac had managed to wheedle some out of her, and she’s regretting it, because now all he wants to do is practice his shitty karate, and even in the dim light of the basement, she can tell how absolutely atrocious it is. “C’mon, Dee, spar with me,” he whines, bouncing from foot to foot.

“No!” Dee exclaims. “I am just gonna lie here—”

“You’re just afraid you’ll lose,” Mac taunts. “‘Cause my muscles are so much more bigger.”

“First of all, karate isn’t about muscles—”

“It absolutely is!”

“No it’s not. Shut up. Second, I’d totally kick your ass.”

“No the fuck you would  _ not!” _

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet, asshole?”

“Well, be prepared to lose all your money, bitch—”

Dee staggers to her feet. “Shut up, Mac.” He runs at her, and she sticks her leg out, and he falls onto the floor with a thud. “Gimme all your money.”

“That was unfair!”

“How the  _ shit _ was it unfair? Neither of us are super drunk, neither of us are high—”

“You— you—”

“Oh my  _ God, _ just shut up and give me the money.”

“I want a rematch!”

“Gimme the money, or I’ll— I dunno, tell Dennis that you banged a guy at the bar, and then he’ll get all mad at you.”

“Why would he get mad at me?”

“Didn’t you guys bang after he came back?”

Dee has never seen Mac’s face turn so red so fast. “What the  _ fuck—” _

“I guess not, then.”

“Why the hell would you—”

“Money, Mac!”

“Fine! Jesus! If you’ll shut the fuck up!” He digs out his wallet and pulls the cash out. It’s a truly pathetic amount— only fifty bucks, and she knows for a fact that he doesn’t have a credit card in there to balance things out— but she takes it anyway, and then she lies back down.

“Don’t bother me. I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Why the shit would I want to bother  _ you  _ in the first place?”

She ignores him. And then she ignores him some more. And then she finally starts to fall asleep, and he has to ruin it by shattering another beer bottle. “Oh my God. Oh my  _ God. _ What the fuck is up with you?” she snaps, sitting up. “Are you all sad, because you’re gay for Dennis and now his baby mama is here and they’re gonna start banging? Are you still processing the fact that your parents will never love you? Are you gonna go back into the closet and torture us all for another twenty-five years?” Her lungs ache for breath, as if she was spewing up lead instead of simple words. Mac looks torn between hurt and anger, like she’d slapped him in the face or something. “Goddamn, don’t be so pathetic.”

“You goddamn bitch. You have no fucking idea what the hell you’re talking about—”

“Really? Because it seems pretty simple to me— you don’t want to talk about your feelings, you have issues with your parents, and you repressed the shit out of yourself. How the fuck does that not sound like my life?”

“What the fuck was all that bullshit about not spending forty years in gay repression hell, huh?”

“Not about the gay thing! There are other things!” Dee says, her cheeks flushing.

“‘There are other things.’ Real loquacious of you,  _ Dee—” _

“The word you’re looking for is  _ eloquent—” _

“I don’t give a shit!”

“Neither do I!” Dee yells.

“Then why the fuck are you yelling at me!”

“Because  _ you’re _ yelling at  _ me!” _

“That’s— that’s reasonable, actually.”

_ “Yeah. _ Dickweed.”

Mac twiddles his thumbs. Literally  _ twiddles _ them. “So… what other things?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Wow, okay, you were the one—”

“You ridicule me for literally every single thing that I do, why the fuck would I want to tell you anything?”

“I told you I was gay, didn’t I?!”

“You told fucking  _ everyone _ that you were gay!”

“Which includes you! So now you have to tell me!”

“That’s not how it works, douchewad.” She sighs. “Fine. My shrink said I should be on meds. And I still haven’t picked them up.”

Mac doesn’t say anything for a second, and then—  _ “That’s _ your big repression thing? Seriously, Dee?”

Dee is going to beat the shit out of him one day. “You wanna know how much stigma there is against people on mental health meds—”

“There’s more against gay people—”

“This isn’t the goddamn Olympics, and either way, I’m both—”

“I don’t give a shit!”

“Take your head out of your goddamn ass for once and  _ listen!” _

Mac glares daggers at her. “Fine. Your cuckoo-ness is valid.”

_ “Thank _ you. Holy shit, that was like pulling teeth. Would you say ‘cuckoo-ness’ to Dennis? Huh?”

Bringing up Dennis is an easy way to get to him, and she fights to suppress a smug grin as he fumbles for a coherent sentence. “Well— wh— you and Dennis are different!”

“How the fuck— Jesus Christ, what’s it like to have such a tiny brain?”

“Shut the  _ fuck _ up, Dee, it’s not like you know anything!” He glowers at her, and she smirks right back. When he and Dennis and Charlie gang up on her, it’s an unfair fight, but individually they’re all oh so weak. “Fine. Fine! You’ve made your goddamn point. Gimme your car keys.”

_ What? _ “What?” she asks. This is not how this whole thing is supposed to go. Mac is supposed to storm off and then mock her in front of the rest of the Gang to save face and hide his own insecurities. That’s how it fucking  _ goes. _

“Gimme your car keys!” he repeats, like he’s hell-bent on upsetting the natural order of things. “We’re going to the Wawa.”

“Why the fuck are we going to the Wawa?”

“To get your drugs! Jesus, Dee, are you as stupid as you look?”

She narrows her eyes at him. She knows that he doesn’t really care about her, he’s just using her as a distraction from his big gay shitstorm of a love life, but it’s nice to have someone show interest in her without being paid to do it. “Fine.”


	4. Everybody's Dying, Bitch. Let's Get You Some Meds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, the twink and the lesbian walk into a Wawa.

_ This is karma, _ Dee realizes, because there is no other way that the universe would be so cruel. “What the  _ fuck,” _ she says, staring over the counter. Mandy stares right back. “Why the hell are  _ you _ here?”

“I work here,” Mandy says. Like it’s goddamn obvious— it’s  _ not _ obvious, because why the fuck would she be working at a goddamn  _ Wawa _ of all places?

“Weren’t you a  _ software engineer _ in North Dakota?” Dee asks, trying to piece together the snippets of information rattling around in her brain from a year and a half ago, when Dennis had still called home. “Like… a rich one?”

“Oh, well, I’m working here temporarily,” Mandy says. “I start my new job at a different company in two months. Hi, Mac.”

Mac lifts a hand and waves. He looks like a lost puppy. Dee doesn’t have the energy to deal with him  _ and _ Mandy  _ and _ her meds. She waves her hand in the direction of the exit. “Mac— can you just—”

For once, their interests align. “Yeah, I’m gonna— I left something in the car,” he says, and he practically sprints out of the store.

“So. What can I do ya for?” Mandy asks, with that stupid North Dakota accent and that cheery smile that makes Dee want to punch her to death.

“Yeah. Uh. I have, like, three bottles of pills that I’m supposed to be picking up. Under Deandra Reynolds.” Goddamn Mac, making her come to the fucking Wawa.

“Deandra’s such a beautiful name,” Mandy says as she types in Dee’s name. “When Dennis told me, I said it sounded like a queen’s name or something.”

Dee actually laughs out loud at that, ignoring Mandy’s slight eyebrow raise. “Yeah? What’d he say to that?”

“He said I shouldn’t get my hopes up,” Mandy says, “but—”

“Yeah, he’s no prize,” Dee says. “How long is this gonna take?”

“Well, I’ve been holding out my hand for your card for at least thirty seconds, so I think that depends on you,” Mandy replies, and Dee’s jaw actually drops a little.

“Oh. My bad.” Dee fishes out a credit card and crosses her fingers that it goes through, and the universe or God or whoever must’ve decided that she’s had enough pain for the day, because Mandy hands her a white paper bag and her credit card without any comment. “Thanks.”

“Wait, Deandra,” Mandy says (and somehow, the name doesn’t sound at all like how Frank says it when it’s coming out of Mandy’s mouth). Dee turns around and cocks an eyebrow. “Is Dennis… doing better?”

Dee doesn’t have a clue and she doesn’t give a shit, but she’s not going to say any of that to sweet, nice Mandy, who uprooted herself to give her son a better life. “I think so,” she says instead, and even though all her lies have piled up into something bigger and heavier than her own soul, this one sticks with her, causes the tiniest pinpricks of guilt to rise up in her throat.

“Okay, good,” Mandy says, and she genuinely sounds relieved. What the fuck had Dennis done to tie yet another person to his— all of their— bullshit? “Oh, and have a nice day!”

“You too, Mandy,” Dee says. God, she really does mean it.


	5. Equilibrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac goes on a date.  
> (cw for implied body issues, mentions of mrs klinsky, drugs, and self-inflicted wounds.)

A new prescription bottle appears on the counter about a week after Mandy moves in. Dennis ignores it, and then he swipes it off the counter and stashes it in his sock drawer because Brian Jr. could potentially get at it, even though he can’t reach nearly that high. Dennis wonders whether or not he should yell at Mac for fucking  _ exposing _ him like that, stripping him bare for Mandy to see, after all the work Dennis put in to keep the specifics of his condition from her. He barely even  _ has _ a “condition.” That’s just the excuse they’re using to dull him down, make him small, and he’s vowed to never be small ever again— not after what Dee did, bringing up Mrs. Klinsky like that half a decade ago. Goddamn bitch doesn’t know how to keep her nose out of shit that doesn’t concern her.

The meds make him small. He can’t be fucking  _ small— _ he can be thin, trim, svelte— not fucking  _ small. _

The meds make him small.

With that thought, everything slots together.

He looks at the tiny container and he takes it out and stomps on it, breaking the orange plastic into pieces that look like the crystallized liquid cough medicine on the rim of the bottle and grinding the pills into a fine powder that reminds him far too much of some of his favorite substances.  _ You can’t do that now, _ he tells himself.  _ Brian Jr. is looking to you. He can’t see this. _

He sweeps the mess up and throws it in the trash, and another container of pills appears on the counter two days later. He doesn’t step on this one, but he does bury it under layers and layers of clothes he’ll never wear again. All in all, he’s reached a fragile equilibrium. He does his best not to snap in front of Brian Jr.— only two slip-ups in as many weeks— and he eats exactly half of the meals that Mac puts in front of him and he manages to avoid Mandy and her concerned, much-too-gentle questions almost entirely. He plays with his son and goes to work and doesn’t do a single hard drug, not even when they find Cricket passed out next to a bag of coke. Mac sleeps next to him on the king-sized mattress every night. There’s never enough distance between them.

“Hey, Dennis?” Mac calls from the bathroom. “Do you mind if I borrow the car tonight?”

_ My car, _ Dennis wants to say, even though those sorts of distinctions disappeared decades ago, only to be brought up during fights. “Why the hell do you need to borrow the car? I need to pick up Bri—”

“I’ll pick up the kid and drop him home,” Mac says. “Does that work, Den?”

The old nickname has been resurfacing quite a bit, and Dennis wonders if Mac’s doing it on purpose. “Yeah, fine,” he says, wondering what the hell made Mac break it out again. All day, he’s so distracted by his new quandary that he forgets to get an answer about  _ why _ Mac needs the car until it’s five o’clock and Mac’s grabbing the keys from him and leaving the bar. He turns to Charlie, who’s wiping down the bartop. “Do you know why Mac needs my car?”

“I dunno, he said something about Grindr?” Charlie replies.

Dennis’s chest constricts, like the hand of God has come down from Heaven and gripped his ribcage with bone-breaking force. “You’re sure he said Grindr?”

“I dunno, like, some gay dating thing.” Charlie looks up from his Sudoku and narrows his eyes. “You’re not gonna get all weird about this, right?”

“Why the  _ fuck _ would I be weird about it?” Dennis snaps. “Mac’s a grown man. It’s about time he makes his own goddamn choices.”  _ He’s going to leave. _ “I don’t give a shit.”

Charlie looks unconvinced.

_ To hell with Charlie. To hell with Charlie, to hell with Mac, to hell with this entire fucking bar. _ “Fuck off, Charlie.”

“Hey, I’m just givin’ you an answer, dude!” Charlie exclaims. “You literally just said that you weren’t gonna be weird about it!”

“I don’t give a shit about what I said!” Dennis yells. His breath is coming in shorter little puffs now, chest rising and falling in jerky motions. He strides out of the bar and into the back alley, the cold air shocking his senses like a fork in a socket. He leans against the brick wall, letting the roughness of it dig into his cheek, even though it’s most definitely going to mess up his foundation. His phone rings, and he doesn’t notice that his hands are shaking until he drops it onto the concrete sidewalk. “Fuck,” he swears, bending over to pick it up. The screen has a long diagonal crack running across it, splitting the  _ M _ in  _ Mac _ into two neatly divided halves, creating a jagged line across the image of Mac’s face that’s displayed. A dull roaring in his ears blocks out the noise of the ringtone— something idiotic that Mac had picked out twelve years ago— and his eyes unfocus. He curls his fingers around the edges of the phone and slams the same hand directly into the wall, with the phone screen facing the brick. The pain in his fingers is barely there, but the phone is still making noises, so he smashes his hand into the wall over and over again until it stops. Something is dripping onto his sleeve, the sleeve of his hundred-dollar button up, and revulsion fills him up like it’s a replacement for one of the many things he’s lacking. He looks down at his hand— his phone— the unholy combination of the two that’s a result of his fingers being frozen in place by the pain— and a wave of nausea rolls through his stomach like a lone tumbleweed.

“Dennis?” someone is saying, and then, “Shit, dude, what the hell did you do? Lemme see that.”

“Go  _ away,” _ Dennis hisses, but he lets Charlie pry his bloodied fingers off his shattered phone, and he doesn’t protest when Charlie calls out for Dee to bring wipes and bandaids.

“Why the  _ fuck _ do you need— oh, Christ, Dennis— did you tell him about Mac’s goddamn—  _ you-know-what?” _ Dee asks, throwing a pack of Wet Wipes at Charlie.

“He asked!” Charlie says, furiously disinfecting Dennis’s fingers. The wipes sting more than the actual injury did, funnily enough. “Okay, Dee, call Mac—”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Dee cries, at the same time that Dennis snaps, “Don’t you  _ dare _ call Mac!”

“Why the fuck shouldn’t I?” Dee asks, all resistance forgotten. “This was  _ obviously _ caused by his stupid date—”

“You really think Mac’s that important to me?” Dennis asks, trying to make himself believe it. From the looks on their faces, Dee and Charlie obviously don’t, and his cheeks flush. “Goddamn idiot can do whatever the fuck he wants to do! I don’t give a shit!”

“Yeah. Okay. You clearly don’t give a shit, that’s why you slammed your hand and your thousand-dollar phone into the side of a  _ goddamn building. Multiple times,” _ Dee says.

“Shut the  _ fuck _ up, Dee, you don’t know jack  _ shit—” _

“Everybody just calm the fuck down! Right now!” Charlie exclaims. “Dennis, I am gonna bandage your fingers and then you’re gonna go home. I don’t want to clean up your fucking blood from all over the bar. Dee, you gotta drive him home.”

“Why am  _ I _ on babysitting duty?!”

“I don’t need to be  _ babysat!” _

“You’re driving him because I don’t have a goddamn car and Frank’s at that weird work reunion thing!” Charlie yells. “Okay. There you go.” He drops Dennis’s now-bandaged hand. “Get out of here.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“Come  _ on, _ dipshit,” Dee says, dragging him by the elbow to her car. “Get in.”

He seats himself, and then— “Shit, Dee, Mac must’ve been calling for a reason—”

“If it was urgent he would’ve called Charlie next. Buckle up and shut up.” Dennis glares at her, but he complies, and Dee pulls out of the alley. “Okay. I don’t  _ really _ wanna have a heart-to-heart here, but…”

“Neither do I!” Dennis yells, his voice filling the car. His breaths are still shaking, and so are his hands. Panic coils low in his chest, like a snake ready to strike. He’s pretty sure that there’s glass embedded in his fingers. (Mac would know how to take care of that.) (Mac is going to leave, and Dennis will be left behind with only fragments of his presence, buried deep in his skin.)

“Fine. Fine! I don’t give a shit,” Dee exclaims. Dennis looks over at his sister, and her knuckles are as white as his are red, her hands clenched around the steering wheel. “But can you at least fucking  _ entertain _ the notion that you feel  _ some _ of the same emotions that he feels for you?”

“What the  _ fuck _ are you on about, Dee?”

Dee screeches to a halt in front of his building and turns to face him, her eyes blazing with fury. “Dennis. Get out of my fucking car.”

“Gladly,” Dennis spits back, trembling as he wrenches the door open. “Fuck you, Dee.”

“Fuck you too, douchewad,” Dee says, and barely a second after he slams the door shut, she’s speeding off down the street.

He lets out a breath and tries hard to keep it from becoming a sob. This is fucking idiotic. This is not the type of behavior someone like him should be exhibiting— it’s gay, and weak, and  _ pathetic. _ He clenches his injured fist, the pain so strong it almost turns to relish, and he heads up to the apartment.

Mandy is tucking in Brian Jr, and Dennis manages to call out a quick goodnight to them before he barricades himself in his room. Even just two weeks in, Mac is taking over the room like an invasive species— not that he wasn’t an active presence in Dennis’s room before, what with the little statuettes he gifted Dennis every year on his birthday and the ubiquitous reminder Post-Its  _ (take your meds! eat an apple! drink milk!), _ all with smiley faces in the bottom right corner, but now it’s suffocating. Mac’s shirts are strewn everywhere, his water bottle rests on the other nightstand, the room even  _ smells _ like him, that strange blend of liquor and Drakkar Noir. Dennis sits on the bed and screws his eyes shut, and eventually sleep overtakes him.

“What the  _ fuck _ happened to your hand?” Mac asks, jolting him awake. “Shit. Sorry. You were sleeping.”

“Yeah. I  _ was.” _

“What— what happened, uh—” Mac gestures at Dennis’s bandaged hand, and Dennis elects to ignore him and look at the nightstand instead. 11:58.

“So you obviously didn’t get lucky,” Dennis says, and it’s meant to come out as an innocent question, but his voice is dripping with venom, and Mac practically flinches. The panic wound up in Dennis’s ribcage finally settles down a little, because if Dennis is asserting his dominance then Mac can’t leave unless he really, really wants to. And Mac is in love with him, so why would he? He hasn’t seen Dennis’s deepest, darkest pits yet. Mac is in the optimal position right now— close enough to stay, not close enough to leave. And he’ll only stay there if Dennis berates him. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

“No, I didn’t,” Mac says, shifting on the balls of his feet. “I wanted to— y’know, take things slow. How did you know I was on a date?”

“It doesn’t take a genius, Mac,” Dennis says. “And what the fuck does  _ taking things slow _ mean? Did he dump you already?”  _ Stop, _ he tells himself,  _ stop it right now, one of these days you’re gonna break something that can’t be fixed— _

“No, man, we’re just doing it, like, properly. He’s a really great guy,” Mac says, some of that familiar earnestness showing through again. “You’d like him.”

“You don’t know that,” Dennis says. “For all you know, he could be a serial killer! You don’t know this guy, Mac, and if you don’t know these people then there’s a good chance it could end up in flames!” He doesn’t realize he’s nearly yelling until Mac widens his eyes and hooks his thumb backwards to point at the door. “Shit. Bri.”

“Yeah. Your son. Dennis, there’s no other option for guys like me, okay? I want to find my— well, y’know, true love or something, man.”

_ “True love? _ Are you in a goddamn romcom?” God, why can’t he close his mouth?

“Dennis—” Mac’s gaze shifts down, and then it flicks to Dennis’s hand. “Dennis,  _ what happened to your hand?” _

“I bashed it up a little. It’s no big deal.” Mac opens his mouth to say something, but Dennis cuts across him. “Good  _ night, _ Mac.”


	6. Rights and Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis and Mandy have a talk.

The pain in his hand wakes him up the next morning, and the first thing he notices is that Mac is gone, which means Bri is gone (at least if he remembers their calendar correctly, because today’s supposedly Mac’s day for dropoff), which means he can start to day drink early. He swings his legs out of bed and heads to the kitchen for some Advil, and Mandy stops him in his tracks.

“Sit down,” Mandy says. Dennis sits down. “Deandra told me that you were getting  _ better.” _

“When the fuck did you talk to her about me?” Dennis asks, his cheeks flushing. “You had no right—”

“What, to have a conversation with your sister? About the father of my child?” Mandy says. “I’d say I have every right, Dennis.”

“Mandy—”

“What really happened to your hand?”

His skin feels even hotter. “You were  _ listening _ to my  _ private— _ how dare you?”

“You were talking loud enough that it wasn’t private anymore,” Mandy says, her voice firmer than Dennis has ever heard it. “What happened?”

He glares at her. She stares right back. “I don’t need to tell you jack shit!”

“In that case, I will be moving out earlier and filing for sole custody of Bri.”

Fear seizes his heart in its grip. “No, don’t— don’t do that. Please.”

Mandy’s expression softens. “Then you need to tell me what’s going on. I can’t raise a child with someone who hasn’t even figured out his own issues, Dennis.”

The story spills out of Dennis’s lips like water rushing from a broken dam— the date, and the phone call, and the wall, all blurring together into one indecipherable mess. Mandy stares straight at him the entire time, and when he finishes, she says, “So you love him?”

“Goddamnit, I’m not fucking  _ gay _ for  _ Mac!” _ Dennis exclaims, dangerously close to ripping out his own hair. “Of all people— of all the things to be— why the fuck does everyone just  _ assume _ that?”

“Dennis,” Mandy says, “you may or may not be ‘gay for Mac,’ but either way, you have a real tight-knit relationship with him.” Even in the midst of the overwhelming emotion (anger or fear, take your pick), he can still appreciate the fact that Mandy has the tact to say  _ tight-knit _ instead of  _ codependent losers. _ Goddamn Dee. “He cares for you. And you come home and yell at him and make him feel guilty for  _ moving on from you?” _

He can hear how hard she’s trying to keep the judgement out of her voice, but his nerves are frayed and his hand hurts like a motherfucker and if he has to think about Mac moving on for one more second he’ll snap. “You’ve known Mac for two and a half fucking weeks, Mandy! What the fuck would you know about us?!”

“I know enough,” Mandy says.

“You know jack  _ shit.” _

Mandy stands up suddenly, with enough force to send her chair sliding backwards. He’s suddenly reminded of a time long ago, with Maureen Ponderosa in the same spot with the same amount of indignity. Goddamn women. Then again, Mac does shit like that twice a week— well, he did. “Dennis, I’m trying to be understanding here. But you are making this utterly  _ impossible, _ and I say that as a woman sharing a tiny apartment with two grown men and a toddler, so you need to grow the hell up. I get that it is  _ hard _ to live with a mental illness, but you don’t get to take that out on us, and you don’t get to take that out on a man who has obviously been in love with you for the better part of twenty-five years, who you might have feelings for too. Get it?”

Dennis blinks. The overwhelming cocktail of emotions recede as fast as the ocean just before a tsunami, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. “Um.”

“All you’re going to say is  _ um?” _

“No, no— Mandy, it’s just— well, we usually just scream at each other. Uh. I’m not used to— whatever that was.” He’s not  _ mentally ill, _ and he’s certainly not gay for Mac, but Mandy might’ve made some good points. Might’ve.

She looks incredulous. “Pardon my French, but how the fuck do you communicate with each other?”

“Uh. Mostly we don’t.”

She blinks, long and slow, and then she pushes her chair in. “I’m going to make coffee. Mac made extra apple slices when he was packing Bri’s lunch, so you should have a few of those and take an Advil.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Dennis says, but it’s half-hearted at best, and even though it makes the burning in his cheeks start right back up again, he manages to add on, “Thank you.”


	7. Papa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac is _seeing someone,_ and there is nothing to keep Dennis from hating the fact.  
> (cw for non-explicit depictions of sex.)

Everything is going perfectly fine. He is at the bar, and his hand has healed somewhat after three days of rest, and the rest of the Gang are being somewhat bearable, and then he makes the mistake of grabbing Mac’s phone instead of his own to order pizza. He is immediately assaulted by three messages from a man named  _ George, _ who is telling Mac “last night was really fun” and “I didn’t know you could bend like that” and “when are we gonna meet up again?” And the nausea (the origins of which Dennis has decided to formally attribute to jealousy) rears its ugly head, and he declares that he’s taking the rest of the day off.

“Asshole!”

“You never helped me clear the lines, dude!”

“Did you order the pizza?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dennis replies, and he thinks of the text messages and feels sick again. He leaves, and he gets in the Range Rover, and he drives. His hand burns, skin stretched tight as he maintains his death grip on the wheel.

He ends up at a shitty bar on Philly’s outskirts, and he orders two tequila shots.  _ Fuck. _ Maybe Mandy and Dee are right, maybe he is in—  _ has feelings for _ Mac. If he really wants to torture himself, then he could theoretically let his guard down and identify that warm feeling that permeated him whenever Mac was around, even back in high school, as the L-word. (And not the TV show.)

Nothing is helping. The tequila makes him feel even more nauseated, and thinking about Mac makes him feel like shit overall. And then there’s the three facts beating against his skull like mallets on a drum.

One— Dennis could’ve had fifteen or twenty golden years with Mac, before the situation became like  _ this, _ but he didn’t. Two— he’s aging, just barely clinging to the remnants of the Golden God (or maybe the Golden God is clinging to him). Three— Mac is going to leave.

Mac-and-Dennis are— were— a package unit. They fit into each other like lock and key. A lock is useless without its key, left hollow and wanting.

Dennis closes his eyes and motions for another shot with his bandaged hand.

When he’s seven deep, a hooker approaches him. He has an abysmally high alcohol tolerance, but she doesn’t know that— she just sees easy money. “If you can get your friend involved too, I’ll take you up on that offer,” he tells her as he buys the rest of the tequila bottle. He can feel her eyes lingering on his fingers for a second longer than normal, and it throws him off.

“You go that way, huh?” the hooker— Cherise? something with a Ch-, anyway— says, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “Okay then.”

_ Go which way? _ Dennis wonders, and then he sees who she’s beckoning over— it’s a guy, and  _ not _ the other lady of the night that he’d spotted in the corner. His stomach drops, but it’s cushioned by liquor. Metaphorically, that is. Unless he’s forgotten what a metaphor is. Or unless the tequila is stronger than he thought.

It’s a short walk to a hotel. He doesn’t know which hooker is biting hickeys into his neck, but it feels  _ good. _ He wonders if Mac has ever done this to another man, if Mac has ever felt this type of beard burn, if Mac’s soft, pink lips would feel better than the hooker’s. Dennis lets his hands roam freely, pretending that the hooker’s back is Mac’s— it’s not a stretch, given how muscular they both are— pretending that Mac is the one doing those  _ things _ with his mouth. He’s pretty sure that he moans out Mac’s name more than once, imagining that he’s threading his fingers through Mac’s hair. It would be embarrassing, but this is miles from home and nobody knows his name, his face, his history. Every time he flexes his shit hand it burns, but the pleasure radiating through him from a multitude of other body parts negates the pain. He passes out face-down on the duvet after tossing a couple of hundred-dollar bills at them, and he sleeps for fourteen hours straight.

_ “Den? Where are you?” _

_ “Dennis, this is Mandy. Are you all right?” _

_ “Where the fuck are you, shitbag?” _

_ “Dennis, are you okay? Do you need a ride somewhere?” _

_ “Dennis, if you don’t show up to work, I’m dockin’ your paycheck from here to next Sunday.” _

_ “Yo, dude, you just dropped off the face of the earth. Are you dead?” _

_ “Dennis, seriously, call me.” _

_ “Dennis, you were supposed to pick up Bri and take him to the park today. Where are you? Are you okay?” _

_ “Dude, Bri is super bummed that you couldn’t take him to the park. Call me back, okay? I want to know that you’re okay. I know we stopped taking the whole check-in thing as seriously as we did, but I still want to check on you. Call me.” _

_ “I swear to God, if you’re dead, I’m gonna kill you.” _

_ “Den, call me.” _

“Mac?” Dennis asks, his voice sandpaper-rough. The quality of the shitty burner phone— he still hasn’t managed to get a  _ proper _ new phone, that’s another fucking thing he’s gotta do— probably doesn’t make him sound any better. “Jesus, what the fuck’s the time?”

“It’s five in the afternoon, dude,” Mac says on the other end of the line. “Where the hell are you?”

Dennis groans and rolls over, throwing his good hand out to grab any sort of stationary available to him. “Uh… the thing just says  _ motel.” _

“Christ, dude, are you at that dive bar we went to in college? I’m pretty sure they give you moonshine there.”

“Uh… yeah, I’m near there.”

He can practically  _ hear _ the realization dawn on Mac. “Holy— you got a hooker?”

“Two, actually,” Dennis says, and for a moment it feels like old times again, where he and Mac brag about their conquests to each other and tell each other everything about it, like they didn’t know exactly what the other one was thinking and feeling and suppressing.

Just for a moment, though. “Okay, well, I had to reschedule with the guy I’m seeing so I could take Bri to the park, so…”

“Well, Mac, not all of us can be the picture of domestic bliss,” Dennis replies. “I—”

“Dennis, just— you’re not, like, stranded, right?” Mac says, and Dennis suddenly realizes that Mac sounds  _ tired. _

“No, I’m—”

“Okay, well, try and be back for dinner. Bri made some finger paintings that he wanted to show you.” Mac hangs up the phone, and guilt shoots through Dennis. He drops the phone onto the bedspread and wonders how the hell he managed to be this closely related to Frank, even without the biological connection.

He gets home just before seven, and Mac is gone (“he rescheduled his date for tonight,” Mandy says, with a reproving look) and Mandy is being a judgemental bitch and Bri’s finger paintings are actually… not bad. “Nice job, kiddo!” Dennis exclaims, and Bri smiles happily.

“Tha’s Mama, an’ tha’s you, Dada, an’ tha’s Papa!” Bri says.

Dennis feels like the kid’s punched him in the stomach. “Papa?” Dennis asks, trying to keep his voice steady. There’s no question of who  _ papa _ is— for a two-and-a-half-year-old, Bri is a great artist. “What— Mandy, what—”

“Just go with it,” Mandy says, ladling soup into bowls.

Dennis does. “That’s really good, Bri. I love it.”


	8. Proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis makes a stupid decision.  
> (cw for brief description of a panic attack)

Mac comes home from his date close to eleven at night with a smile that stretches from ear to ear, and all Dennis can think is  _ nobody else should be able to put that there. _ And then Mac sees Dennis and his mangled hand and his smile disappears and Dennis is buried under a wave of guilt again. He misses being able to push down his emotions until they rotted into hollow pits, encased in a thin layer of anger. “How was your date?” Dennis asks, trying to play it cool.

“It was good,” Mac says, like What Are You Going For Here and like Just Let Me Have This all rolled into one. A month ago, Dennis would’ve snapped at Mac for no reason, and a year ago he would’ve laughed awkwardly and asked the minimal amount of questions required to let this whole  _ Mac-dating-people _ thing pass, and ten years ago he wouldn’t have even been thinking about what to say. He stays quiet as Mac rubs the back of his neck and asks, “How was your, uh…”

“Yeah. Uh, it was fine.” Better than fine. Much, much worse than fine. (He  _ moaned _ Mac’s  _ name. _ Multiple times. There’s no coming back from that.)

“Yeah. Well, you can’t just  _ do _ … that,” Mac says. “You can’t just fuck off to get wasted whenever you want.”

“You have no problem with fucking off to go bang  _ George,” _ Dennis says, and then he immediately regrets it.

“How do you know his name?” Mac asks, his brows furrowed in that way of his, where he’s desperately casting around for any available emotion other than anger.

“When I was ordering pizza—”

“You went through my phone?” Mac asks.

“No! I just saw the notification thing pop up, and I clicked on it. Sue me.”

Mac actually laughs at him, a hollow, derisive noise that sounds like it’s not sure where it belongs. “Den, you can’t do shit like this—”

“Like what, Mac? Please enlighten me,” Dennis asks, icy, even though the nickname still makes his stomach flip. “Impart your wisdom, O Great One.”

“Like— like  _ that! _ You can’t expect me to go through my life waiting for you to catch up!” Mac almost shouts, the words hanging in the air heavier than smoke. He bites his lip, and Dennis can’t stop himself from tracking the motion hungrily.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dennis asks, mainly to distract himself from the microcosm of eroticism that is Mac. It’s as if last night was the final straw, the thing that finally let the floodgates open, and now he can’t stop himself from thinking this sort of shit. He’s always been a master of manipulating people, himself included, because sometimes that was the only way he could look back on his time trapped in Frank and Barbara’s marble prison or Mrs. Klinsky’s wooden cages without going batshit insane. Change the events to fit the story. That’s what Dennis is best at. Except now he’s lost all semblance of control, and Mac is looking at him with that incredulously angry expression on his face, the one that’s always made Dennis want to tackle him to the ground and either throttle him or—

“I mean that whenever I move towards being happy, you come bursting in with your big ideas and your stupid plans and you  _ ruin _ it!” Mac exclaims. “I’m finally in a happy relationship, and—  _ goddamnit, _ Dennis, why couldn’t you have done this, like, five years ago? Five  _ months?” _

“Happy r— how long have you been dating this guy?” Dennis asks, the words coming out much more strangled than he wants them to. “Two days? That’s what constitutes as a  _ relationship?” _

“Two  _ months, _ Dennis!” Mac exclaims, and it hits Dennis in the gut like a fist of lead, “so either— either  _ do _ something, or don’t be a bitch about it!”

His vision is blurring, but everything else is becoming sharper. Something in his chest stirs, something protective and warm and Golden. “You’d think I want to fuck  _ you?” _ Dennis spits, his heart going faster than a hummingbird’s, his mouth curling up into a shaking sneer. “You, Mac? Your one redeeming quality was that you sold weed, and now you don’t even do  _ that _ anymore, and you drag all of the rest of us into your fucking— your fucking  _ quagmire _ of daddy issues and repressed homosexuality—”

“I’m not the one who hasn’t come out yet!” Mac bellows.

“I’m not fucking gay!” Dennis hollers back, and then his gaze slips down to Mac’s mouth again and he doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s done it.

His lips land slightly off-center, kissing the corner of Mac’s mouth more than anything, but he course-corrects, and when Mac fists a hand in his hair and pushes him up against the wall again, he’s reminded that Mac really  _ is _ stronger than him. For a few seconds, it’s more of a battle of wills, with Mac’s tongue shoving its way into Dennis’s mouth and Dennis fighting back just as much, and then Mac bites down on Dennis’s lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood, and Dennis eases up and lets Mac take control. Every single nerve in his body is singing, alight, stimulated beyond comprehension, and he can’t even  _ remember _ what the pain in his hand felt like, and when he brushes his thumb across Mac’s cheekbone he thinks he might combust. “Jesus, Mac,” Dennis whispers, and Mac’s moan swallows up the words, and then—

“Shit,” Mac whispers, and he steps back, even though Dennis’s grip on the back of his neck means he only steps back about three inches. Three inches is not enough and too much, all at the same time. Dennis is breathing like he’s run a marathon. “Dennis, I—” He drops his hand from Dennis’s cheek, but he doesn’t move backwards. “What does that mean?”

“What the fuck are you, a girl?” Dennis snaps, everything in him yearning to be pressed flush against Mac again. “That was— it was what it was.”

Some light in Mac’s eyes flickers out. “So you’re not—”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m  _ dating— _ you want me to just  _ drop _ him— I can’t—”

“You  _ can,” _ Dennis says, like if he puts enough enthusiasm into it then it’ll come true.

“No, Dennis! You—” Mac sighs, looking utterly worn. “I won’t ever stop lo—”

“Don’t  _ say _ it,” Dennis hisses. “Don’t— don’t you dare.”

Mac looks like Dennis has kicked him in the stomach. “Fine. I won’t. But you know, right?”

“Yeah, I— I know. And. Uh. Me too, I think.”

“Then why—”

“Just drop it, Mac! Jesus fucking  _ Christ!” _

“Don’t bring God into this,” Mac says, and they’ve had this argument a million and one times, but Dennis knows that this time is inevitably going to be different and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. And then the door opens, and Mandy and Brian Jr. walk in, red-faced from the cold, and Dennis shoves Mac away hard enough to make him stumble.

It can’t look good. Mandy’s eyes flick between the two of them, and Dennis can tell that his lips are swollen as fuck and he can see that Mac’s are too, and even if they  _ didn’t _ look like they’d just been making out, there’s still the issue of proximity. “Hiya,” Mandy says cautiously. “What’s going on?”

Panic bubbles up inside Dennis’s chest, and he pushes past all three of them to get into the hallway. He can’t think straight, can’t fucking _ breathe, _ and he thinks that Mac might be holding him up by the shoulders, so he shakes him off, almost violently, and he stumbles downstairs. The wind hits him and he gasps a little. He starts walking, in the same direction he did when he’d told Mac that Mandy was moving in with them, and he finds himself outside the same hipster shithole. He doesn’t go in this time, opting to pull out a pack of Lucky Strikes and a lighter instead. The flame is shaking and he can’t light the cigarette and he can  _ feel _ the stares, all coming from people undeserving of even  _ looking _ at the Golden God, let alone  _ judging _ him. It takes countless tries, but he finally gets the fire to catch, and it’s only when he lowers the cigarette after taking a pull that he sees his hands shaking. He thinks about kissing Mac, thinks about Mac’s surprised huff of breath when Dennis’s lips landed on his, thinks about Mac’s body pressed to his, thinks about the stark contrast between Mac’s thumb resting tenderly on his cheekbone and the way Mac was pushing and grabbing and dominating everywhere else.

He smokes the cigarette down to the filter and prays for the first time in decades, and you’d think that breaking a thirty-year streak would signal to some higher power that you’re desperate, but his phone screen stays dark, devoid of any word from Mac about what happened.


	9. Julius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis returns to the apartment and gets cornered by Mac and Mandy.  
> (cw for mentions of abuse)

He stays out until his hands and his nose and his brain freeze over and he finally gets numb to the memory of Mac’s warm mouth against his. The sun has set, and he lights his last cigarette to savor on the way home. The streetlights cast a dirty orange glow on everything; the faces of the few passersby on the street are obscured in shadow. Dennis has walked this exact route with Mac so many times that he can practically conjure up an image to walk beside him. He reaches their building and tosses the cigarette butt, long since finished, into the trash can before heading up. He knows he smells like nicotine. He can’t bring himself to care.

Mac is in the bathroom with Brian Jr, helping him brush his teeth, and Dennis says, “I’ll tuck him in.” Mac shoots him an enigmatic look but leaves anyways, and Dennis picks up his son and takes him to bed. “How was your day, Bri?” Dennis asks, wondering if the scent of smoke lingers too heavily on his clothes. “Did you have fun at daycare?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Brian says, pulling the blanket closer with his tiny fists. Dennis lets himself marvel, just for a moment, about how fast his son is growing. “But I wanna go to the park wi’ you an’ Mama an’ Papa an’ not go to daycare.”

“Well, me and Mama and Papa gotta work, bud,” Dennis tells him. “We’d love to take you to the park more, but we gotta earn money so we can keep living in this apartment.”

“Why do you an’ Papa an’ Aunt Dee an’ Unca Cha— Chaw—”

“Uncle Charlie? Why do we what, bud?”

“Why d’you yell s’much?” Brian asks. Dennis raises his eyebrows. He’s been living with Brian for almost two years, but it never fails to amaze him how fast he can switch gears. Goddamn kids.

“Well, that’s— that’s just how we are,” Dennis says. “That’s just how we  _ roll.” _ He’s never felt more self-conscious in front of a child before. Jesus.

“Whuzzat mean?”

“Like— we’ve always been yelling, and that’s always how it’s worked.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, man. It’s too early to get into messed-up childhoods with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not even three.”

“Why?”

It strikes him again, right then— the realization that this is a child, a child who has not been abused, a child who  _ trusts _ people, a child who doesn’t know anything about the millions of hoops that the Gang jumps through in order to keep clinging to each other. He can’t fuck this up. He  _ can’t. _ He’s done a lot of horrible things, but if he fucks this up, he’ll never forgive himself. “I love you, kiddo, you know that?”

“Why?” Brian asks, stifling a giggle.

“Because I do.”

“Tha’s a bad answer!”

“G’night, kiddo.”

“G’night, Daddy.”

He kisses Brian on the forehead and switches off the light and closes the door, and he lets out a shaky exhale. Mac and Mandy, both working together on something in the kitchen, look over at him. “Dennis, can I talk to you for a second?” Mandy asks.

That familiar sense of panic returns.

“What’s the matter, Mac? You gotta get her to fight your battles for you?” Dennis taunts, his nerves thrumming, like the nicotine decided to hit him all at once. “You can’t be a big boy and—”

“Dennis, I’ve said everything I need to say to you about that,” Mac says, and Dennis wonders if he might throw up. He kissed Mac—  _ exposed _ himself, worse than being naked, and now Mac has  _ leverage. _ Christ.  _ Christ. _

“This is something different,” Mandy adds, and now Dennis has found another soft spot to target, because—

“You told her?” he hisses, his heart beating wildly. He’s stopped being able to tell between anger and fear, lost that ability at age fourteen. “Goddamn, I should’ve known—”

“It was pretty obvious,” Mandy says, like I Am Trying To Be Nice Don’t Make This Worse. “This isn’t about that. You need to go to therapy.”

_ Therapy means open up means give a stranger access to my mind means give them leverage. Think fast. _ “I have a  _ degree _ in  _ psychology _ from the  _ University of Pennsylvania. _ What the fuck could some quack doctor diagnose about me? What the hell could they tell me that I don’t already know, Mandy?”

“You didn’t know you had BPD,” Mandy counters.

Dennis opens his mouth to retort. Nothing comes out.

“I found this one lady. I think you’d like her.” Mandy’s words reach his ears as if they’re floating through water to get there, as Dennis thinks of the orange pill bottle that he still hasn’t freed from its drawer. Mandy  _ found _ a lady. Past tense. She’s been looking. She’s been  _ lying _ to him, even if by omission. He takes a shaky breath and prepares to launch into some spiel, something that would get them both off his back, and then he freezes. Brian is falling asleep. Brian doesn’t know about BPD and therapists and betrayals, and Dennis is not going to be the one to tell him.

“I’m going to bed,” he says instead. “I’m— good fucking  _ night.” _

“Dennis,” Mac starts, and Dennis whips around on his heel— and despite himself he thinks  _ please say it’s gonna be okay, you’ve always been good at that, c’mon— _ “We’ll email you the stuff?”

_ We. _ There is a  _ we _ there and that  _ we _ equates to the Senators and Dennis is Caesar. “Fuck off, Mac.”


	10. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis meets Mac's boyfriend.

Dennis isn’t expecting to see a completely unfamiliar, exceedingly hair-gelled ginger man sitting in his living room when he wakes up, but nothing in the past two weeks— really, ever since Mandy showed up— has gone as expected. And then he spots the man’s hand, which is resting on the back of Mac’s neck in a way that is definitely not casual, and he decides to go back to bed, because this is just going to be a fortnight of awkwardness coalescing into one huge clusterfuck—

“Oh, this must be Dennis!” Fuck. Too late.

“And this must be a stranger! In my house!” Dennis replies, forcing a laugh.

“Dennis, this is George,” Mac says. His big stupid puppy eyes are wide open, obviously trying to convey the message Please Don’t Fuck This Up. “George, this is Dennis.”

George looks at him and looks at Mac and Dennis has the sudden feeling that he can see exactly where Mac’s lips were two weeks ago. “Nice to meet you, Dennis,” George says, his smile stretched a little too wide.

“So what— what are you doing here?” Dennis asks. He _hates_ this fucking _George_ clown for making him plaster a smile on his face this early in the morning. “It’s only eleven! Doesn’t the whole _gay_ scene of Philly only start up at, like, nighttime?”

“Well… no, we’re going on a lunch date,” Mac says. “Not a club.”

“A lunch date!” Dennis exclaims. His voice is too high. Why is his voice so high? “That’s adorable.” And because he hates himself, he adds, “Where to?”

“Oh my God, you remember that place we went to once when you were at Penn? The sandwich place?” Mac asks. “Turns out it _didn’t_ burn down, just the shop next to it, so we’re gonna go there.”

“Oh!” Dennis says, still grinning like a maniac. “Fun!”

“Dennis, you went to Penn too?” George asks. “What year did you graduate?”

“‘98,” Dennis says, “you?”

“2000!” George replies. “Wild! I majored in vet sciences, what about you?”

“Same!” Dennis exclaims. His smile is just growing and growing. He feels more like he’s grimacing.

“Small world, huh? How’d you end up working at a bar?”

“I, uh—”

“Babe, if we’re gonna make our movie, we gotta leave,” Mac says, and Dennis flashes him a quick _thank you_ glance before he remembers that he and Mac still aren’t on the best of terms. Mac averts his eyes. George smiles wider.

“Yeah, you’re right,” George says. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“You too,” Dennis says. His skin is crawling.

“See you, Dennis,” Mac tells him. He waves back, and as soon as the door shuts behind them, he sags onto the couch. His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out almost embarrassingly quickly, but it isn’t Mac texting, it’s Mandy. _Good luck at your first session!_ the text reads, and for a second Dennis wonders what the fuck she’s talking about before it all clicks. She can’t blame him for forgetting. He was drunk almost every time she brought it up. But none of that changes the fact that he has a therapy appointment in ten minutes and that stupid fucking mental health center is twenty minutes away.

He rummages around under the sink until he finds his emergency stash of creme de menthe and takes a pull as he turns around and rests his back against the cabinets. Sitting here and getting drunk is a much better plan than going to therapy. Therapy is stupid. He doesn’t need therapy. Mandy’s an idiot for even suggesting it in the first place.

Ten minutes later, he’s wondering if it’s worth it to get up and make himself a cocktail, and then his phone buzzes again— this time, it really is Mac. _george just broke up w me,_ the text reads, and that settles it.


	11. The Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac gets broken up with.

When they get out into the hallway, Mac turns to George and asks, “Dude, you okay? You look kinda… I dunno. Weird.”

George flashes him that same strange smile that he’s been wearing the whole time, and suddenly Mac realizes that George has looked  _ weird _ ever since he told him about the whole kiss thing two weeks ago. Something is most definitely off. “I’m good, babe.”

They walk down to the street in silence, and then— “So what did you think of Dennis?”

George sighs. “Yeah, I can see why you like him so much.”

Mac frowns. “Well, what is that supposed to mean? I already told you,  _ he _ kissed  _ me—” _

George stops in his tracks and turns to face Mac, and Mac has the sudden sinking realization that this is the end. He wonders how he didn’t see it earlier. “Mac, you obviously like him more than you like me.”

“That— I’ve known him for almost  _ three decades,” _ Mac says. It’s not as painful as it should be, but it still  _ hurts. _ Dennis only kissed him because he was scared of Mac leaving him, and now there’s gonna be nothing making him want to kiss Mac again.

“Yeah, well, I won’t ever be able to catch up to him,” George says. “I see the way you look at him, you know. I’m not blind.”

“Well, y’know, he’s never gonna wanna— I mean, he’s just got a fear of abandonment, that’s why he kissed me,” Mac says.

George laughs, devoid of all humour. “But you’re never gonna abandon him. I mean, what if I asked you to move in with me? You’d choose living in that tiny apartment.”

“You don’t know that,” Mac says, and he wonders why he’s trying so desperately hard.

“I do, Mac. And I don’t want to be your second choice.”

“You—”

“Hey,” George says. “I get it. And for the record, he looks at you the same way you look at him. Although I think he’s real fucked up about it. So just— just be careful, okay?” And then he’s grabbing Mac’s face and kissing him on the cheek, and then he walks away.

Mac stands there on the corner for what seems like an hour before he pulls out his phone and texts Dennis.

...

“What the hell do you mean you have therapy  _ today, _ bro?” Mac asks. “And you’re  _ skipping _ it?”

“Fuck  _ off, _ man!” Dennis exclaims. “You just got— y’know, broken up with—”

“You never gave a shit about that before, you’re just using it as an excuse,” Mac accuses, and his voice might be a little too heated but whatever. He  _ did _ just get broken up with.

“Wh— that— that is not true!” Dennis sputters. “I… I am trying to be, y’know, a  _ good friend, _ and that entails  _ being there for you _ when shit like this happens!”

Mac wonders if he’ll ever stop wanting Dennis to be happy. “Shut up, man.”

“You—  _ you _ don’t get to tell  _ me—” _

“Tell you what, that you’re being a dipshit? C’mon, man, you said you’d go!”

“I missed the appointment anyways, so let’s just shit-talk that George clown instead!”

“There’s nothing  _ to _ shit-talk about!” Mac exclaims, because there really isn’t, and if he told Dennis what George said then Dennis would get all weird and push Mac away again. “He just said it wasn’t working out!”

Dennis narrows his eyes, and then his jaw tenses up. “Did he— was it because of me?”

The lie surfaces on his tongue faster than he can think. “No,” he says, “it was because of me.”

Dennis still looks suspicious, but he doesn’t push it. “Fine. Well, we can still go to the sandwich shop together.”

“No. You’re going to therapy.”

“What the fuck is it with you and picking these stupid battles—”

Mac darts forward, lunging for the car keys resting on the countertop, and Dennis tries to body-block him but ends up pinned between Mac and the counter. Dennis is skinnier than Mac remembers, and not even in the twink way— in the way that Mac had tried to stop Dennis from being ever since he cottoned on to what was happening.

Dennis is also very warm. And he’s looking at Mac with his stupid shattered-glass eyes, and Mac wants nothing more than to kiss him.

But he knows how that went last time. “C’mon,” he says, grabbing Dennis’s arm and pulling him towards the door. “Let’s get you some therapy.”


	12. Dr. Middleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis goes to therapy.

The doctor is called Dr. Middleton. She tells Dennis to call her Callie. Dennis tells her that he’ll stick with Dr. Middleton. She looks at him like he’s a rat she’s dissecting. “You didn’t set up your appointment,” she says. “And you showed up half an hour late because your roommate made you. So I’m guessing you didn’t want to do this.”

“I have a psych degree from the  _ University of Pennsylvania. _ I don’t need some third-rate quack to tell me what’s going on in my head,” Dennis snaps.

She points at the wall above her.  _ Harvard University, _ her framed degree says.

“Oh.”

“So tell me about yourself,” Dr. Middleton says. “Other than the fact that you have a psych degree from the University of Pennsylvania.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Dennis asks her.  _ Just half an hour of this. She can’t get that much out of you in half an hour. She probably got into Harvard because of stupid affirmative action. _

“Well, I know you’ve been diagnosed with BPD,” Middleton says, her gaze flicking briefly down to Dennis’s injured hand, “and that you don’t take your meds.”

“Who told you that?”

“Your ex-girlfriend, when she was setting up your appointment.”

“She had  _ no right _ to tell you that!”

“Why do you think that?”

“It’s my life! I don’t even  _ need _ to take the fucking meds!”

“Why not?”

“I’m not—” He narrows his eyes at her. “You sly dog, you almost had me monologuing.”

Middleton purses her lips, and for a second it looks like there’s humor in her eyes. There’s no fucking  _ humor _ in this situation, with her digging through his head. “That’s the point of therapy.”

“Bullshit,” Dennis snarls.

“It’s in the pamphlet,” Middleton says, unperturbed.

“Do you honestly think I read the goddamn pamphlet?”

“Not really. But therapy is for you to talk it out.”

“Yeah,  _ right,” _ Dennis tells her. “You just want to fucking— get in my head. Manipulate me.”

“Let’s talk about that.”

“No, let’s fucking not.” His breaths are starting to come in little punctured gasps, like someone’s repeatedly punching him in the solar plexus. “You know what? This was a stupid idea. Mandy’s a fucking idiot. I don’t need therapy, I don’t need the fucking medication, I don’t need— I don’t—”

“Let’s make a deal,” Middleton says, obviously realizing that this is the best time to press her advantage, when he’s floundering for words and too angry to think straight. “You have a son, right?”

_ Fuck. _ Brian is the whole reason Dennis agreed to do this fucking thing— it’s completely unfair of her to bring him up in this, just to get money out of him, because she doesn’t give a shit about him as a person, especially not after five fucking minutes. He takes a breath, clenches his fists. “Yes.”

“Okay. Well, therapy can make you less… snappish.”

“Are you implying that I yell at my  _ son?” _ Dennis asks, and now he’s really trembling— fuck her, fuck her, she doesn’t get to give him parenting advice, she’s probably a barren old crone anyways, she’d be  _ lucky _ if Dennis would bang her—

“No, I’m not implying that— Dennis, I’ll make you a promise right here. I will never mince words with you. You obviously want to be a better parent, right? That’s why you came?”

“Did Mandy tell you my whole fucking life story?”

“Just what’s been happening the past few weeks. But, Dennis— I’m telling you, therapy can help you out. Swear to God.”

He exhales heavily, trying to release the tension like how that really hot yoga instructor told him to, and says, “You just want to con me out of my money.”

“Dennis, if I wanted more money I wouldn’t take insurance. This is about me wanting to help you.”

“You don’t fucking know me.”

“That’s the point. I don’t know you, and I don’t know how best to help you, so if you want to get your money’s worth out of this session, then we can start with why you were so reluctant to come here in the first place.”

He stares her down, weighing the pros and cons of the situation, and then— “Fine. I don’t want you in my fucking head.”

She smiles gently, and for a second she reminds him of his mother when she wasn’t fighting with Frank or screaming at Dee or throwing bottles at the wall. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”


	13. Symbiosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dee likes to antagonize people. Mandy is the exception.

Dee has taken to hanging out in the Wawa that Mandy works in. She’s not sure what that means, but it’s nice. Mandy is… nice. She talks about her son— Dee’s  _ nephew, _ who she’s seen all of, like, three times— and she answers Dee’s questions about programming and she actually listens when Dee says something, and for the first time in her life Dee doesn’t feel so alone.

Of course, that means that Mac and Dennis have to fuck it up.

They walk into the Wawa, arguing about some inane bullshit, and Dee freezes in place. “Do they— this place isn’t even close to their  _ house,” _ Dee hisses, wondering if she can make a break for it. “Why—”

“The mental health center is close to here,” Mandy says. Which doesn’t fucking explain anything, unless—

“How the  _ fuck _ did you manage to get Dennis to go to  _ therapy?” _ Dee asks.

“Oh, so we’re telling everyone about that now?” Dennis asks. The usual tension is absent from his voice. It’s fucking  _ bizzare. _

“I figured it out by myself, dipshit,” Dee tells him. “Not everyone’s as stupid as you two.” She thinks she hears Mandy snort softly behind her.

“Shut up, bird,” Mac says offhandedly. “Anyway. We—”

“—just came to ask if you were picking Bri up or not,” Dennis finishes, his face painted with the fakest grin to ever exist.

God, he really is a fucking idiot. And Dee is always spoiling for a fight, so she asks, “You drove all the way here? Did you both lose your phones or something?”

Dennis’s jaw clenches. Dee can see his temper returning to him. She almost relishes it. “We were in the neighborhood. What are  _ you _ doing here?”

_ Fuck him, turning the tables, _ Dee thinks. Before she can say anything, Mandy intervenes. “Well, I always appreciate the company. Business isn’t too fast this time of day.”

Dennis nods, his head bobbing up and down like that of a chicken. “Cool, cool, we’ll be leaving then.”

“But Dennis, you never got your answer,” Dee tells him. “Surely you won’t leave without doing what you came here to do in the first place.”

“Okay, can I just—”

“Shut  _ up, _ Mac—”

“She’s got a  _ point, _ Den—”

“Jesus Christ, it’s not exactly a secret why you’re here,” Dee sighs. “Just pick up your goddamn meds.”

Dennis turns red. “Fine. Fine, you goddamn—”

“Gimme one second, Dennis, I’ll get those for you,” Mandy says, turning around to rifle through the shelves. “How’d the session go, by the way?”

Dennis looks at Dee for a split second. “I’m not going to judge you, moron,” Dee tells him.

He makes a face at her. “Fine. It went well, okay? Why the hell do you want to know?”

Mandy emerges with a white paper bag and raises her eyebrows as she takes Dennis’s credit card and swipes it. “Because I care.”

That throws him for a second. “Okay. Well. Are— are you picking Brian up, then?”

“Yes, because that’s what was in the calendar.”

Dee snorts. “You guys have a  _ calendar?” _

“Well, since we’re not sad, lonely spinsters…” Mac trails off, and Dee glares at him. “Dee, you know it’s true.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to deal with baby shit, so I think I’m the real winner,” she replies.

Mandy laughs outright at that. “That you would be.”

“Stop… getting along,” Dennis says, waving his hands at them. “It’s creepy.”

“Y’know, just because all the other women you banged are bitchy doesn’t mean I can’t get along with this one,” Dee says.

“Thanks,” Mandy says good-naturedly. “Really appreciate that.”

“Well, it was a compliment.”

“Didn’t you bang the Waitress?” Dennis asks her.

“You banged  _ the Waitress?” _ Mac asks. “Holy shit, dude, if Charlie finds out—”

“Who’s the Waitress?” Mandy asks.

“She’s— Charlie’s, like, obsessed with her—”

“Yeah, and he’ll kill you if he finds out!”

“Well, he won’t find out if you don’t  _ tell him— _ which, thanks  _ so much, _ Dennis—”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dennis and Mac ask at the same time.

“Mac, you can’t keep a secret to save your life, and Dennis, you know that, and I was drunk as shit when I told you, so… totally unfair to bring it up now.”

“I can definitely keep a secret!”

“How is that  _ unfair?” _

“Excuse me, but I’m here to pick up a prescription for Ryan McElveen?” says an elderly voice, and the three of them turn to see an old man standing behind them.

“I’ll get that right away for you, sir,” Mandy says, looking chastised.

“Okay. Well, we’ll be going,” Dennis says. “Thanks—” he lifts the paper bag— “thanks.”

“Have a nice day,” Mandy says cheerily. She pulls another bag off the shelf and hands it to the old man and rings him up, all with a smile on her face, and the question that’s been on Dee’s mind for the past few weeks finally rises to the tip of her tongue.

“How the hell do you put up with us?”

Mandy raises her eyebrows and laughs. “How do you know I’m not just doing this for Brian?”

“Because you would’ve kicked me out of your store by now.”

“Awfully confident for a loiterer, aren’t you?”

This time it’s Dee’s turn to laugh. “But seriously,” she says, sobering up, “we’re a bunch of degenerate alcoholics— I’m pretty sure Dennis has a crack problem, too, and  _ Charlie—” _

“Dennis has a crack problem?” Shit. She just made this so much worse.

“Well, not  _ really. _ But if you handed him crack he’d probably do it. Unless he was in front of the kid or something.” Judging by Mandy’s extraordinarily-raised eyebrows, she is definitely making this worse. “Point being, we’re not good people. Why did you move?”

“I want Bri to have a family,” she says. “Not just me. And he likes Dennis, and he likes Mac, and I’m sure he’ll like you and Charlie.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re important in this scenario, too, y’know,” Dee says, trying her hardest to sound caustic. (Being feelings-less has helped her survive all these years— she’s not exactly going to stop that now.) “C’mon, tell me how you really feel about being here.”

Mandy pauses, considering. “Well. I think you’re not great people. Especially if I’m going based on what you’ve told me.”

“Wow, not that harsh,” Dee says, even though it’s true. “You couldn’t sugarcoat it?”

_ “But,” _ Mandy says, smiling a little, “there’s always room to grow.”

That is a genuinely funny comment. Dee is completely justified in laughing. But Mandy looks a little… off-balanced, by that, so Dee asks, “You really think we can undo all the shit we’ve done?”

“Oh, definitely not. I mean, you’ve facilitated the literal fall from grace of a priest, and that’s just one case—”

“Well… Cricks was gonna end up there anyway,” Dee says, fully aware that he wasn’t going to do anything of the sort.

“Dee, he wasn’t going to do anything of the sort,” Mandy says. “So  _ no, _ I don’t think you can. But you could most definitely do better in the future. And if you don’t, I’ll be justified in going back to North Dakota.”

“So this is just gambling for you.”

“Low-risk, high reward.”

“And what would that reward be?”

“A better future for my kid.”

Dee blinks. “Wow. That’s some Bond-villain-level manipulation.”

“What?” Mandy asks, laughing.

“Like, you want Brian to have a bigger family, and you’re making us be better people so you can give that to him, and it’s like— like, a vicious cycle!”

Mandy cocks her head and grins. “I mean, I’d call it  _ symbiotic, _ seeing as we all benefit, but I suppose you’re not wrong."


	14. The Other L-Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Dennis finally start to talk, but Mandy comes home early with bad news.  
> (cw for canon-typical alcohol abuse)

Moving around the apartment is… different, somehow. Maybe it’s due to the fact that Dennis recently stuck his tongue in Mac’s mouth. That would definitely make sense. But an explanation doesn’t fix the fact that he now moves around  _ awkwardly _ in his own goddamn residence. He bends backwards at a near-90° angle as Mac passes him, and when Mac opens his big fat stupid mouth— the same big fat stupid mouth that got them into this mess to begin with (well, technically it was Dennis’s mouth, but that’s all just semantics)— Dennis glares at him and then inclines his head towards his son, who is sitting in his high chair not five feet away.  _ Not right now. _

Mac makes a weird expression in return, somewhere in between a glare and puppy-dog eyes, and whatever the fuck it is, the message is clear.  _ If not now, when? _

Well, at least he knows how long the new, de-closeted Mac is willing to look past things— not even two days. He cuts his eyes towards the door as he fixes Bri’s bib—  _ after the kiddo and Mandy leave. _ Mac nods ever so slightly. Dennis wishes he didn’t know how to have these silent conversations with him. It would’ve saved them all a lot of trouble.

He feeds Brian and gets him changed and hands him off to Mandy, and then the two of them are gone. Brian to daycare, Mandy to work, Dennis to have uncomfortable conversations with stupid twinks (and Mac’s still a twink at heart, no matter what anybody says). He does everything in his power to get out of this conversation— he goes on a cigarette run, he does the dishes, he sits in his room and blasts that stupid hair metal that he and Dee used to listen to— but Mac corners him when he comes to the kitchen to get water. “So,” Mac says, and someone with such huge muscles shouldn’t make their eyes their main feature but it works. “Uh.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

_ Jesus Christ. _ “So… George. We never really got to—”

“It’s fine.”

“Well—”

“It’s  _ fine, _ Dennis. It’s a non-issue.”

“You dated for two months.”

“Well, sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.”

“Two days ago you said you were  _ moving on _ from me. And now  _ you, _ the big fat hopeless romantic, are just—  _ giving up _ on George?” He doesn’t know why he’s pushing this so hard, seeing as this was kind of exactly what he wanted.

“It’s not  _ giving up. _ It never should’ve been a thing in the first place. I mean, the sex was great—”

“Please, spare me the details,” Dennis says, even though they used to share every single aspect of their conquests with each other. (But twenty-five-year-old Mac-and-Dennis were idiots, what with their lack of boundaries and stupidly long looks at each other, so they don’t have any weight in this argument.)

“You were the one who wanted to talk about this thing in the first place!”

“I didn’t want to hear the—  _ that _ part!”

“Oh my God, Dennis—”

“You were the one who dated him in the first place, so if anything, it’s your fault we’re in this mess!”

“Holy shit, you’re gonna get mad at me for  _ L-wording _ you  _ and _ for moving—”

_ “‘L-wording?’” _

“You yelled at me for using the actual word, Dennis! Loving! Is that what you want? You want me to tell you I love you? ‘Cause, you know, I can tell you that! And I can tell you that that’s why George and I broke up, and I can tell you that I’m not gonna fucking  _ move on, _ not even after all  _ this—” _ he moves his hands around in a few aborted gestures, and he’s not anywhere near Dennis but it’s still like he’s punching him in the stomach, over and over again— “but you’re too— I dunno,  _ emotionally constipated— _ to do anything about it, so there’s no fucking point!”

Dennis is suddenly very aware of the fact that no air is leaving his nose— Mac can’t just  _ say _ that, can’t just get Dennis’s hopes up— because Mac  _ will _ end up leaving— or hating him—

The front door swings open with enough force for the handle to hit the wall, and Mandy bursts in, slight black smudges around her eyes. She heads directly into her room, leaving the door ajar. Dennis finally takes a breath and mutters “What the  _ fuck?” _

Mac shrugs. “Maybe it’s her time of the month.”

Dennis sighs and screws his eyes shut. “Okay. Okay, you— I— I’m going to go—”

Mac’s jaw stiffens. “Yeah. Yeah, you should probably—”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Dennis nods at him awkwardly before turning around even more awkwardly and knocking on Mandy’s door. “Can I, uh. Can I come in.”

Mac winces, like something he said was bad. Dennis glares at him.  _ I’m doing my best here. _

Mac squints back.  _ Really? _

Dennis glares even harder.  _ Yes, really, asshole— _

“Yeah, sure,” Mandy says, her voice tight and muffled.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Uh. You seem— upset.”

She huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”

“Why’re you home so early?”

“I had a  _ talk _ with Brian’s daycare and decided to take the rest of the day off.”

“Do you want to… talk about it?”

“Well, we’re all gonna need to.”

“What?”

“They upped the tuition at Brian’s daycare, and since we just started him there, they’re saying some bullshit about the change being effective immediately instead of at the beginning of the next school year— and we’ll have to change his preschool, because I don’t start the new job in time to make this payment— and he really loves it there, I don’t know how we’re gonna tell him—”

“We won’t have to,” Dennis tells her, sighing. “I can go…  _ grovel _ to Frank for the money.”

Mandy blinks, her lashes tacking together. “Didn’t you say that last time you asked him for money—”

_ “Don’t _ bring that up unless you  _ want _ to have to transfer him,” Dennis tells her. “Because if I think about that too much—”

“Point taken,” Mandy says. “Dennis?”

“What?”

“Thank you. I know your relationship with Frank is—”

“Seriously,  _ don’t.” _

“Okay. Okay. Sorry. Thank you.”

“He’s my  _ son, _ Mandy.” And the strange thing is, he means it.

And then she hugs him, close and tight like a mother would, like a sister would, and it takes him a second to catch on but he hugs her back and it’s just— nice. He pulls back, and then he remembers that Mac is probably still standing in the exact same spot, waiting for Dennis to say something about that fucking conversation. “You know, if I have to ask Frank for money, I think getting hammered would be a good course of action here.”

“And this doesn’t have anything to do with Mac standing outside like a lost puppy.”

“Absolutely nothing.”  _ Pretty much everything. _

For a second, she looks like she’s going to call him on his bullshit, but then she raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “Sounds real great about now.”

“Perfect.” He stands up and walks back into the living room, Mandy following him, and tells Mac, “We’re gonna go get trashed. You wanna— uh—”

“No, I’m good,” Mac says, a little too hurriedly. “You guys— you go do your thing.”

“Cool. Cool. Uh… keys. Where—” he spots them on the counter and snatches them up— “great. Well… see ya.”

Mac waves as Dennis and Mandy walk out. It’s not even a jaunty wave. Fuck him, honestly.


	15. Buffers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis and Mandy get drunk as fuck.  
> (cw for canon-typical alcohol abuse)

“You know. You know. Mac is now single,” Mandy says, waggling her eyebrows and pointing her beer bottle at Dennis. “You should do something about that.”

“And  _ you _ have absolutely  _ zero _ tact when you’re drunk.”

_ “You _ are also drunk, though. Wait. Are we bad parents?”

“You are, probably,” Dennis tells her, and she cackles so hard she nearly falls off her chair. “You’re supposed to be, like…  _ nurturing.” _

That makes Mandy laugh even harder. “That’s your job too, dumbass.”

“Is it? Oh, fuck me.”

“I already did. That’s why we’re in this situation.”

Dennis stares at her for a second, and then the giggles come tumbling out of him like Niagara goddamn Falls. Is that even the right one? “Niagara Falls… that’s the big waterfall, right?”

“Fuck if I know, I failed history.”

“I don’t— I don’t think that’s  _ history, _ though, I think that’s just common knowledge.”

“Well,  _ you _ can’t remember it, so…”

“I’m drunk.”

“So am I!”

“Should I bang Mac?”

Mandy blinks a few times, like her brain is buffering.  _ Ha. _ Buffering is a funny word. Kinda sounds like butt. He remembers buffers from his college chem class— they keep the pH all fun and sexy and not-likely-to-kill-you. Why don’t he and Mac have buffers? They should buy some buffers. He’s about to ask where you can buy buffers when Mandy finally speaks— “I mean, wild change of topic there, but I think you should. You guys are really annoying.”

“Thaaaaaaaanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you gonna sleep with my sister?”

Mandy chokes on her beer. “What?”

“She didn’t even hang out that much with her boyfriends.”

“I thought she was a lesbian.”

“She’s weird. Anyway. You gonna—y’know?” He hates that he has to ask this. He doesn’t want to hear jack shit about his sister’s sex life. But he needs to  _ know. _

“I mean— you know— I don’t—  _ uh.” _

“Huh. Don’t do it in the house, pretty please?”

“Are you  _ shitting _ me? You enormous hypocrite.”

“What did I do now?”

“If you could, you’d bang Mac in every room of the goddamn place—”

“Well, that’s kind of an exaggeration—”

“You literally told me that you would, like, two minutes ago!”

Dennis squints at her. “One of us is far too drunk right now.”

“Yeah.”

“We should go home—”

“OH! You know what we should do? We should go home and you should tell Mac all that shit so I don’t have to deal with you people being all weird on top of parenting a toddler.”

“Will you give me fifty bucks?”

“No?”

“Goddamnit.”

“Yep.”

Dennis nods at her and then hauls himself off the barstool. “Barkeep! Call us a taxi.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re in walking distance to the apartment,” Mandy says, and then she stands up and promptly trips over her own feet. “Nevermind.”


	16. Now and Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis attempts to confront Mac.  
> (cw for canon-typical drunkenness)

Getting upstairs is a nightmare, but they manage. Mac opens the door for them and makes them drink water and a cup of coffee each. “This is kinda… excessive, guys,” he says.

“I’m very drunk,” Mandy says, winking not-so-subtly at Dennis. “I’m gonna go take a nap.”

Dennis waits for Mandy’s door to slam, and then he starts. “I—”

“Would you really rather get piss-ass drunk than deal with— whatever this is?” Mac says, his eyes big and brown and full of a strange defensive confusion. “Is it really that hard for you?”

“Yes,” Dennis says, “but—”

“Holy shit, man. Just— go to bed. We can talk about this later.”

“But I  _ want _ to talk about it  _ nowwww,” _ Dennis whines. He’s dimly aware that he’s losing his chance, losing his nerve, and some small sense of alarm slips through the drunken haze. “I love—”

_ “Nope,” _ Mac says.

“The fuck?” Dennis replies, because seriously, what the  _ fuck, _ how can Mac just do a complete 180 in, like, two hours—

“You’re gonna chicken out when you’re sober. You’ve done it before, and it’s not happening this time, man. Deal with your feelings when you’re not—” Mac gestures at Dennis’s wrinkled clothes, the booze staining half his shirtsleeve, the smell emanating off him—  _ seriously, _ he kinda reeks— “and then tell me.”

“When the fuck have I done it before?” Dennis asks, even though he doesn’t actually want to hear it— how  _ close _ he came.

“If you don’t remember, I’m not telling you, man. Just— go to sleep.”

“Okay, I’m incurring a  _ huge _ risk of being cliche here, Mac, which I need you to appreciate, but seriously— I’m a changed man. I think. At least a little.”

“Prove it.”

“Tell me how.” He doesn’t even think about the words coming out of his mouth, just knows that he  _ needs _ to prove it— prove himself— and only once they’re out there, hanging in the air like thin whorls of steam, does he think about how much he  _ didn’t _ think. That means something, right? It has to.

“Tell me when you’re sober.”

And sobriety has never really been an issue they’ve liked to contend with, but Dennis is willing to do whatever he needs to, even if only because he’s stubborn. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

The corner of Mac’s mouth quirks up for a split second, and nobody except Dennis would’ve noticed it, and he likes himself for knowing that. “Go to bed, man.”


	17. Tomorrow, Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets resolved.

Mac washes every single dish in the apartment twice, bakes and eats a whole pot pie, and is just starting to dice apples for a crumble when Dennis’s door swings open. “Fucking  _ Christ,” _ he says, and Mac points to the four Advils on the counter, two for each of the drunkards.

“Can you squeeze some lemon juice on this?” Mac asks, nodding at the dish slowly filling with cubes of honeycrisp. Dennis nods and grabs the halved lemon sitting on the counter, and Mac moves to make room for him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Dennis says, his voice rough, “when the hell did you learn how to make all this shit?”

“Last year,” Mac replies.  _ North Dakota, _ he means. But it’s impossible to really stay mad at Dennis— he knows he has every right to be angry, and  _ God, _ he was pissed at first, but it’s so much harder to  _ stay _ pissed. So he’s let it go.

“Oh. Cool,” Dennis says, even though Mac can hear the strain in his voice. Dennis is very, very close— close like the kind they used to never think about, close like the kind that speaks volumes now. “So.”

“That’s enough lemon juice,” Mac tells him, and when he turns his head Dennis is looking at him with a wide-eyed stare. He refuses to get his hopes up. He will not get his hopes up. He will not—

Dennis grabs his jaw and kisses him. Dennis is kissing him, and Dennis reeks of booze and his fingers on Mac’s cheek are sticky from the lemon juice and he still has the lemon in his other hand which means this is not going to be some Exceedingly Intense Kiss like in the movies but it is so, so  _ good. _ Dennis pulls back for a second, and his eyes are crinkling at the edges the way they do when he’s done something he’s proud of. “I proved it.”

Mac spares one last second to drink in the sight, and then he leans in again, completely unable to hide his smile.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy moves out.

Mandy moves out with almost as much spectacle as when she moved in. That is to say, after helping her move into the new place (Mac drops half the boxes he’s assigned to carry), Mac and Dennis go and get hammered and Mandy is left in a blessedly _those-two-_ free apartment. Seriously, she thought they’d been weird when they hadn’t been together? They’re twice as weird now.

“You’re probably glad they’ve moved out, huh?” Deandra asks her, sidling up with two beers in her hand. She passes one over, and Mandy takes a grateful swig as she surveys her new living quarters. Charlie— who is surprisingly good with children— and Bri are spread out over the area rug in the living room, playing with the toy cars Bri had insisted on taking with them, and Frank— _“don’t try inviting one without the other,”_ Deandra had said, _“you’ll just end up with both anyway—”_ is passed out on the couch. God, she is so glad she doesn’t have to see Mac and Dennis necking on her couch anymore. “I mean, they’re kinda… demanding.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” Mandy says. “Did you know that once Dennis threw a hissy fit because his towel wasn’t folded to his exact specifications? And he was the one who had done the laundry that day.”

Deandra snorts. “Sounds like my brother.”

Mandy pauses. “But, y’know… it’ll be weird not to have any adults around. I mean, obviously, y’all are welcome over anytime, but not living with anyone else other than the kiddo is gonna be an adjustment.” And then, because she’s become a lightweight after giving birth (that’s the excuse she’s gonna go with, because really, one-point-four beers are not nearly enough to get tipsy off of), she says, “Y’know, your apartment is a crapfest.”

Deandra’s face shifts from her mask of indignation to confusion to realization, and the split second that transformation takes is enough to make Mandy doubt every fact of her existence, and then— “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“It’s a three-bedroom, you could definitely— I mean, unless you don’t want to—”

“My apartment is most definitely a fucking shitshow—” Mandy winces a little at the language (she can’t help it if she doesn’t want to hear her three-year-old yelling _FUCK_ at the top of his lungs at a stubbed toe) and Deandra grimaces too— “and I promise I’ll work on the language, but yeah, I’d be more than happy to give up the lease on that hellhole.”

Mandy feels the grin spread across her face before she recognizes that Deandra has actually agreed to it, and then she grins wider. “Fantastic.”

Deandra smiles back, a little vulnerability hidden behind it. “Fantastic. Cheers,” she says, holding her bottle out, and Mandy clinks her own against it.

“To new beginnings,” Mandy says.

“Hear fu— hear, hear,” Deandra replies, and they both drink.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first big bang, so tanks for reading yall! drop me a line at glundergun on tumblr :)


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